The point of Caratius’s spoon skidded off the edge of the oyster and narrowly missed stabbing his thumb. The Medicus glared at her. Later on, no doubt, he would tell her he had a plan and she had wrecked it. When really, he was trying to find a way to ask, and not doing very well at it.
Caratius put the oyster down. “I think you are mistaken.”
“I have been told,” she said, “that he was not going to Londinium at all. He had a message to come here and see you. I have spoken to the housekeeper who took it.”
“Here? No, no, no. I never wanted to go near the man. Absolutely not.”
He turned to the Medicus. “This is the sort of thing I was telling you about earlier. False rumors. Cursing in public places. Vindictive behavior. I wasn’t even at home that day.”
That, of course, meant nothing at all. He could still have sent the message and ordered the murder. She said, “Asper thought you wanted to talk about-” She stopped. Outside in the hall, an old woman was shouting in British for help.
As they all leapt to their feet, Caratius was saying, “Please don’t disturb yourselves!” and heading for the door. It burst open before he got there. A little woman with sparse white hair was shouting in a cracked voice, “They are here! Warriors in the woods!”
Caratius moved to put himself between her and his guests. He said in British, “It’s all right, mother.” He took hold of one thin arm and tried to steer her back out of the room. “They’re just guards from town rounding up a loose horse. They won’t hurt anybody. Mother, have you been hiding food again?”
“Let go of my bag!” Her hands were like claws, clutching a grimy sack to her chest. “I need my bag!”
The waft of roasting beef from the kitchen mingled with something more pungent.
“Just go to your room, mother. Nobody wants your bag. Where’s that dratted girl?”
The woman peered past him. “What are those people doing in my house? Are they the ones who took our silver?”
“They’re visiting, Mother. Guests come to share a meal. It’s nothing to worry about.”
A maid hurried in, flustered, and took the old woman by the arm. As she was led away she was still saying, “There are men in the woods!” and the maid was trying to reassure her.
Caratius turned to the Medicus. “I’m sorry. My mother is having a bad day.” He cleared his throat. “You may have understood her talking about stealing. Please don’t take offence. She’s not well.”
Tilla said, “Have you lost some silver?”
Caratius shook his head. “My mother remembers many things, but not in the right order. My grandfather’s stock of silver was lost sixty years ago. If it ever existed. I’m sorry you were disturbed.” He clapped his hands and a servant stepped out of the corner to stand at his shoulder. “We’ll have the beef.” He turned back to his guests. “Now, as I was saying…”
As he went back to talking about the Council, Tilla was distracted by a whispered conversation in the doorway behind her. The servant who was supposed to be fetching the beef hurried back into the room and murmured something into his master’s ear. Caratius hissed in British, “Can’t it wait?”
The servant did some more murmuring. Caratius’s body jolted as if someone had just shot an arrow into his back. He looked at the Medicus. Suddenly efficient, he said, “Investigator, you need to come with me.”
Before she could say anything, the Medicus gave her a look that said if she tried to follow, he would be very angry indeed. On the way out she heard Caratius giving someone orders to bring lanterns. She needed her shoes.
The hall was empty. Behind the farthest door she could hear the mother’s anxious voice and the maid still trying to calm her. The main door was open. Servants and farmworkers had clustered out in the yard. All had their backs to the house and were standing looking toward the darkening woods.
What had the servant done with her shoes?
As she entered the kitchen a tabby cat leapt off the table, onto the sill, and out the open window. The steaming joint of beef sat abandoned on the table in a pool of congealing grease. The platter held the small clean wipes of tongue marks.
She found the shoes set back from the fire. The damp leather was cold and clammy around her feet. She had just closed the window shutters to keep the cat out when Caratius’s mother wandered into the kitchen. The maid was close behind, looking almost as desperate as her charge. “Your little boy is a man now, mistress. He will make sure you are safe.”
“You’re lying to me!” insisted the mother. “Everybody lies to me. What have they done with my son? Where’s my bag? I saw the warriors!”
“Your bag is here, mistress. You have everything you need. Your son is safe. We’re all safe now. Come back and eat.”
“Where’s Father? Father is still down there. He thinks he can talk to them.”
The maid shot Tilla a look of despair across the gloom of the shuttered kitchen.
“Your Da is in the next world with mine, Mother,” Tilla assured her.
The woman backed away. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” Tilla told her. “Your Da and mine are in the next world talking about the breeding of horses and my brothers are arguing with them and my mother is asking why they always have to shout.”
“We don’t care about horses. Father is a silversmith. We live behind the workshop. Who are you?”
“She’s a friend, mistress,” said the maid.
“A friend?”
“Yes.”
The old woman’s grip was surprisingly strong. “Where are your children?”
Tilla said, “I have no children.”
The woman shook her head. “No, no. Always know where your children are. Always have a bag behind the door. See?”
She held out the bag. It did not smell good. “Bread and cheese, a blanket and a-a-”
“A comb,” prompted the maid.
Trying to coax her toward the door, Tilla said, “Very good.”
“Yes. Somebody will always take you in if you comb your hair and look respectable. Mother says so.”
As they passed, the maid murmured in Tilla’s ear, “I think it’s seeing those men set her off. She thinks she’s a child again. Her father was killed when the Iceni raided the town.”
“What’s that? What is she saying?”
There was nothing wrong with the old woman’s hearing. “We are all safe here, Mother,” Tilla assured her.
“That’s what they told us. The warriors will never come here. The army will stop them.”
“The army has stopped them.”
“Put your shawl over your nose when you run through the smoke. Hold Mother’s hand.” The bag fell to the floor as the thin hands went up over her face. “Don’t smell the man with his clothes on fire. Don’t hear them calling for help.”
“It is over now.”
“Can you hear the other mothers?” The vein tracks on her hands glistened with tears. “Listen! They are calling for my lost friends who went out to play.”
Tilla swallowed. She put an arm around the thin shoulders.
“Always keep a bag by the door,” whispered the old woman. “Always know where your children are.”
By the time Tilla and the maid had settled the mother with a large cup of strong beer (sometimes, according to the maid, it was the only way), it was dark. Tilla went out onto the porch. She could hear the voices of the men returning from the woods. There were three lanterns bobbing about by the track. A couple of them headed off toward the stables. The third came back toward the house. She unfastened the safety strap on her knife. In all the fuss with the mother, she had forgotten the Medicus altogether. Anything could have happened. “Who is there?”
“It’s all right, Tilla.”
She relaxed her grip on the knife. “What is happening?”
She could make him out now, on the left of a group of five or six men. Dias was one of the two supporting a stumbling Caratius. Caratius, unusually, seemed to be having trouble with his words. “I still can’t believe… To think that… Out there all this time… How terrible this must… I never thought anyone would stoop to this!”